Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

A Baby Story Part 4

In this installment of our semi-popular web-series we will be
looking at the phenomenon known as “pregnancy brain.” It is a condition whereby
intelligent women become unable to perform some of the most fundamental
cognitive functions. Some attribute the onset of symptoms to hormones, others
to a simple lack of sleep. Whatever the reason, this ailment may affect as many
as 68% of the 1/3 of women highly susceptible to it.

In my wife’s case, the onset of symptoms began around week
18. We were preparing for our workday and my wife was standing in our bathroom
curling her hair. Following a series of exhausted huffs, she shouted with
thinly-concealed rage, “What is wrong with this stupid curling iron!!!” Always
the dutiful husband, I returned to the restroom to find my wife furiously
manipulating her curling iron in an attempt to produce her desired hairstyle.

I immediately noticed that the appliance’s electrical cord
was unplugged and dangling uselessly by her side. As anyone in striking
distance of a pregnant woman knows, this is a delicate situation. One must
exercise extreme caution since one verbal misstep could result in either
body-wracking sobs or a flying Conair product. I diplomatically suggested that
connecting the curling iron to a power source might produce better results.
Glancing down at the untethered power-cable, her eyes narrowed as she
exclaimed, “I don’t have time to let it heat up now! I am already LATE!!”

She then tossed the curling iron on the counter, and
announced that everyone was just going to have deal with her having straight
hair. I believe I mumbled something about her uncurled hair, “framing her face”
as I retreated toward the door that led into our bedroom. While the incident
unsettled me, it would have been irresponsible to classify it as a pattern. At
least, that’s what I thought.

That evening, we were jovially recalling the curling-iron incident
while watching television when my wife decided to have some cereal. Still
uneasy leaving her unattended around electronic appliances, I watched as she
calmly poured herself a bowl of Cheerios and placed the gallon of milk into our
pantry before attempting to refrigerate the remaining cereal. I gently proposed
reversing her food storage decisions at which point she realized what had
happened and asked me, “Why am I stupid!?”

Now my wife is a fiercely intelligent and capable woman, and
I consoled her by insisting that we cannot allow a few rational blunders to
affect her self-image. However, beneath my calm exterior I found myself
increasingly concerned by my wife’s mental degradation. In the weeks that
followed, she would walk into rooms wearing a confused expression only to
sheepishly admit she had forgotten her original purpose.

Many times she would call me to let me know that she had
thought of something important only to admit that she had forgotten it between
the first and second ring. Often this would be immediately followed by a
call-back meant for another family member she had somehow expected to reach via
the last-number redial command. One day, she dedicated an unspeakable amount of
time attempting to speed-dial someone using the Blackberry “lock-key.”

In an effort to protect both my spouse and my unborn child,
we worked out a simple code for the onset of cerebral fogginess. She states “I don’t
know no Portuguese” at which point I assist her in avoiding sharp objects or
high-order math. So far, we have avoided any major incidents since the
implementation of our safety phrase. I am simply thankful that her profession
doesn’t involve the operation of a ban saw.